The Feeders

22 - Janette Lithgow and Salvador Finch

The white wooden surface of Salem's door has been immovable for the last couple hours. As usual, I have no idea what he's doing in there. He could be building a time machine to go back and snatch Zachary before he's taken away for all I know. They say time travel is impossible, but a few months ago, people thought zombies were impossible. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised by anything anymore.

When Salem gets one of those bright looks--the kind of look where a lightbulb seems to flick on behind someone's eyes--and dashes away, he could be creating anything. I normally stay away when he gets like this. More often than not, he's working on something brilliant that would bore me or confuse me anyway. However, I now stand at his door, demanding entrance, or at least to be let in the loop. Time has become of the essence to me, because each moment is more dangerous than the last for Zachary. Contrary to popular belief, confinement poses a more urgent threat than being out in the open in these progressively dangerous times. People with power and weapons are a lot scarier than a sick person that can't think properly enough to use a weapon or outsmart you.

From the living room, the television program I have been mindlessly filling my time with is being interrupted by a couple beeping sounds. A newscaster's voice comes over the air.

"Attention please. This is a public service announcement. From this date forward, until further advised, all schools will be closed. All daycares will be closed. Children are to remain in the home at all times..."

About time. I'm deeply relieved I don't have to finish any book reports or math homework for the time being. It's just too much to deal with. What movie has anyone ever made where the people fight zombies and algebra problems? Aside from that, it's a huge weight off my shoulders to not have to be away from our parents for so long each day. To not have to feel like I'm constantly lying to so many people.

The message starts repeating. I give Salem's door another go, twisting the locked knob, knocking on the area where my face would be if the door were a mirror. Finally it opens and he holds his hand up in a shh motion, while he listens to the message from the tube.

I let it play through, then speak up. "What on Earth are you doing in there?"

"Nothing now. I'm finished," he says. He holds up two little rectangles with clips on them. Cards, with our faces on the front with fake names. "CDC badges. I think I got close to the real thing." He points to his computer screen, where a card is displayed.

I kiss him on the cheek and he says something like "ugh, yuck," and wipes my invisible 'sister germs' away. I ignore it and take the badge. It says my name is Janette Lithgow, rather than Janice Hunter. His says Salvador Finch instead of Salem Hunter. They look exactly like the real deal on his screen.

By the time we get in Salem's car, we're wearing white lab coats and I'm a ball of nerves. I've never done anything like this. I haven't even snuck down to the fridge in the night, and now I'm sneaking into a whole facility full of contaminated people. Salem fills me in on the way.

Containment isn't a brand new building, erected specifically for the purpose of holding sick ones. It's just our local hospital, morphed into something scarier, with more security. A lot more security. As we drive up, a metal pole blocks our way. A pudgy security guard is stationed in a little box.

"Names and purpose?" he says.

"Salvador Finch PHD, director for science at the CDC," Salem says clear and smooth. "This is my assistant, Janette Lithgow. We're here to procure some specimens."

The man cocks his head, his stubbly red hair twisting slightly left, while he fixes his eyes in a narrow stare.

"Where are Stuart and Tyler?" he asks.

The fake smile I've been wearing drops. We didn't discuss the possibility that his reaction could go this way, but Salem reacts before any panic can set in.

"Ah, a bit under the weather, I'm afraid," he says.

The guard nods solemnly and lifts the barrier.

"They've really been using them as test subjects. I knew it," Salem says. "It makes sense. It's what I would do."

I twist into disgust and he sees it on my face.

"It's how we learn, Jan," he says.

"That could have been mom and dad. If we'd let them come here. Would you still agree to them testing on people if you knew mom and dad were the subjects?"

"That's what we're trying to prevent. Let's just hope they haven't already taken Zachary."